


New Orleans, 1868

by shadowen



Series: All Stories Have Monsters [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Autistic Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Established Relationship, Found Family, Homophobia, Joe and Nicky have a lot of stories, Light Bondage, M/M, Nile wants to hear a story, POV Outsider, Police Brutality, Racism, Story within a Story, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, aro/ace Nile, frame story, not actually as dark as it sounds?, the most established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: “Ask them whose fault it was,” Andy tells her.“A repressive cultural ideology rooted in the veneration of racial and sexual purity?” Joe suggests.Nicky just says, “It was Joe’s fault.”Joe sighs. “Okay, first of all, I was drunk. Second, I was pissed off.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: All Stories Have Monsters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087286
Comments: 35
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you, like Nile, aren't interested in the sexy bits, just skip chapter 2. :)
> 
> Thanks to LAFseanchai and Fuinixe for the beta. <3

History is not a linear progression. 

It’s easy to think that _now_ is necessarily better than _then_ , and it’s comforting to believe that tomorrow will definitely be better than today. If Nile has learned anything from living with people who’ve been experiencing and shaping history for literally thousands of years, it’s that the idea of an inexorable march toward progress is bullshit.

This is on Nile’s mind with particular weight when she and Joe return to the safehouse after what should have been a quick supply run.

“What took so long?” Andy asks as soon as they start hauling grocery bags into the house. “Nicky was worried.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Nicky says mildly from his place by the stove. Joe walks over and gives him a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

“We need IDs,” Nile tells Andy. “Or you two have to do all the driving. Something.”

Andy frowns. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“We got pulled over,” Joe says, and Nile can see Nicky's grip tighten on his arm. “Took half an hour to convince the cop the car wasn’t stolen, and he still gave Nile a citation.”

“He tailed us for a few blocks, too. Lucky he didn’t follow us all the way back here,” Nile grumbles.

“How the fuck did you get pulled over?” Andy asks Nile. “You’re supposed to be the _good_ driver.”

Nile shrugs. “Driving While Black?”

“Having a brown passenger didn’t help,” Joe adds. He doesn’t sound bitter, just tired. Nile knows they’ve both dealt with this kind of shit their whole lives, but her life has been a few decades; Joe’s has been several centuries.

Nicky mutters something Nile can’t exactly translate, but she understands the universal inflection of _fuck the police_.

Andy sighs and rubs a hand over her eyes. “Is there anything we need to worry about? Any chance this could come back to bite us?”

“Doubt it,” Nile says. “Cops don’t usually follow up on this shit.”

“Good. I’ll talk to Copley about IDs.” Andy shakes her head and looks over at Joe and Nicky. “Is it me, or have cops here gotten worse?”

“Nah. They just have bigger guns, now,” Joe replies, flopping into a corner of the couch. “Same racist bullies they’ve always been.”

“They can’t arrest us for kissing, anymore,” Nicky points out.

Nile joins him in the kitchen and starts to put away the pile of groceries. “Tell me that didn’t actually happen.”

Nicky just raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Technically, we didn’t get arrested,” Joe says. “Nicky got harassed, and I got shot.”

“For _kissing_?”

Joe shrugs. “Well, for sodomy.”

Nicky turns around, frowning, "Was it sodomy or miscegenation?"

This is suddenly much more interesting than Nile expected. “Wait, so you got arrested either for being gay or for being interracial, but you can’t remember which?”

“I mean, the assholes who tried to arrest us were probably offended by both, but...” Joe scratches his beard in thought. “Y’know, I think you’re right. I don’t think sodomy was illegal in New Orleans, at that point.”

Andy chimes in, “Doesn’t mean you couldn’t get arrested for it.”

“True.”

“But, technically, you didn’t get arrested.” Nile clarifies. “You got harassed and shot.”

“Ask them whose fault it was,” Andy tells her.

“A repressive cultural ideology rooted in the veneration of racial and sexual purity?” Joe suggests.

Nicky just says, “It was Joe’s fault.”

Joe sighs. “Okay, first of all, I was drunk. Second, I was pissed off.”

***

The American Civil War was, to put it in twenty-first century vernacular, a clusterfuck.

Joe tended to think of America, in general, as a clusterfuck of a country. Before the European colonial powers had begun to butcher the land and fight over the pieces, it had been a beautiful place, full of peaceful people and overwhelming natural beauty, and Joe was deeply grateful for the privilege of having seen even a fraction of it before... Well, before it became America.

The so-called War Between the States was just the most recent verse in the saga of ceaseless conflict that had defined the nation from birth. It was not the bloodiest or most brutal war Joe had ever taken part in, but it was exhausting in a way that few others had been.

Now, though, it was over, and they were celebrating. Rather, a surrender had been issued, and the four immortals were drinking. _Over_ and _celebrating_ were words too definite for the reality of the situation, but they were relieved that Andy had decided their part in the conflict was done.

Relief led them to an inn in New Orleans, at which they proceeded to consume many, _many_ bottles of alcohol and plates of food, and Joe was feeling more content and at ease than he had in recent memory. His plans for the evening consisted of his two most treasured pastimes: enjoying a meal with his family and taking his beloved to bed. 

He was dreaming idly of the latter task, unabashedly staring at Nicky’s mouth on the edge of a wine glass, when Booker suddenly called to him from the bar.

“Joe! Joseph! _Mon frère_!”

Booker, who had been sent to inquire about further food, was standing beside the innkeeper, waving for Joe to come and join him. Joe sighed and pressed a quick kiss to Nicky’s temple. “I will go see what our Frenchman wants.”

When Joe had reached him, Booker gestured to the innkeeper, saying, “ _Monsieur_ , please tell my friend what you just told me.”

The innkeeper made a face, clearly trying to maintain a façade of polite professionalism. “I meant no offense, sir,” the man said, still speaking to Booker. “I only wished to inform you that there is a place for the help to enjoy themselves. I thought your boy might be more comfortable with his own people.”

Booker looked at Joe with raised eyebrows and a bemused smile, as Joe glanced between him and the innkeeper in disbelief. It was not the first time Joe had been mistaken for a servant or a slave, but it was the first time he’d ever been asked to leave a public place. It was definitely the first time anyone had assumed _Booker_ was his master.

After a moment of tense silence, Joe laughed loudly enough to catch the attention of several nearby patrons.

“ _Fous-moi_! Oh, that’s good. That’s very good,” Joe said breathlessly. Clapping Booker on the shoulder, he told the innkeeper, “This man... This man is my brother. My _younger_ brother.”

“ _C’est vrai_ ,” Booker agreed, grinning. 

“If he tried to give me an order, I’d slap his stupid face.”

Booker nodded, still grinning. “And you would be right to do so.”

“However! This m-” Joe gestured to his other side before he remembered that Nicky was still at the table, not standing beside him. “Nicky!” he shouted. “Nicolò! _Hayati_! Come here!”

His perfect, patient, ever-giving Nico heaved a great sigh and stood slowly from the table, Andy following behind him with a look of curious amusement. 

“ _Sì, amato mio_?” Nicky asked, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“This! This is my master!” Joe announced to the innkeeper, throwing one arm around Nicky’s broad shoulders.

“Oh, no. Not this again,” Andy muttered.

Looking to Booker, Nicky asked lightly, “What is happening?

“Our gracious host suggested Joe should do his drinking with the rest of the help,” Booker replied.

Nicky’s response was simply, “Ah. I see.”

“But! But...” Joe went on, undeterred. “To say that I am his slave does not fully express the power he has over me. To call me his servant does not describe the devotion with which I long to fulfill his every desire.”

Several of the other patrons had taken an interest in the proceedings, and a part of Joe’s mind suggested that this was not the time or place to say such things so loudly. He was drunk and in love, and he did not care.

“What then?” he continued, now performing for the growing audience. “His companion? His lover? These are closer, and these are true, but they are much too small.”

He looked at Nicky, and the fond smile that greeted him was truly his undoing. Softer, he said, “What single word could possibly convey that everything I am belongs to him? That his joy is my ecstasy and his sadness is my despair?”

Loudly, for the benefit of those around them and because he knew it would make Nicky blush, he added, “What lustful exclamation could encompass the constant ache my body feels for his touch?”

“ _Sir_!” the innkeeper exclaimed, obviously scandalized.

Joe just beamed brightly at Nicky. “Moreover, I wonder, is there any utterance to express all of these things, but also to say that they are felt in equal measure? That he is just as devoted to me as I to him, that my comfort and pleasure are of greater importance to him than his own?”

He already knew the answer. He had scoured a dozen languages over nine hundred years, and everything he had learned suggested that, no, there were no human words for what he shared with his beloved Nicolò.

Turning to the innkeeper, he said, “If you want me to go elsewhere and make merry with my fellow Africans, I will, but you may be certain that my beloved will join me.” He leaned in, warning, “And he might decide to show them how much mastery I have over _him_.”

In their own private language, Nicky spoke into Joe’s ear. “ _If you keep speaking like this, I will show these people here and now_.”

Joe had no choice, in that moment, but to kiss Nicky fiercely on the mouth.

There were hoots and shouts from around the room, though he could not have said whether they were appreciative or mocking. All that mattered in the world was the taste of wine on Nicky’s tongue and the feel of Nicky’s fingers in his hair.

That kiss was infinitely more intoxicating than any alcohol, and, tempting as it was to continue taunting the innkeeper with their utter disregard for propriety, Joe decided he was ready for the two of them to retire to the blessed privacy of their room. One look at Nicky’s clear green eyes, and he knew they were in agreement. 

“I think we’ll say goodnight, now,” Joe said. He was speaking to Andy and Booker, but he could not have taken his eyes from Nicky’s face if he had wanted to.

Booker clapped him on the back with a loud sigh and said, “ _Amusez-vous_.”

Joe was vaguely aware of Andy and Booker going back to the table as he and Nicky led each other up the narrow stairs toward their room, too absorbed in the promise of pleasure to notice much of anything, including the hard stares that followed them.

Once away from all other eyes, Joe had just enough presence of mind to turn the lock as he pressed Nicky back against the door. 

***

“I think you can skip ahead from there,” Nicky says from the kitchen.

“The sexy parts are important to the story, though,” Joe objects.

“The position we were in when they came for us is important,” Nicky replies. “I don’t think Nile wants to know the details of how we got there.”

“Please, no,” Nile agrees. “I’m glad y’all have a good sex life, but I already know _way_ more about it than I ever needed to.”

“Well, you’re about to learn something else,” Joe warns her. “Because you should know that w-”

“He tied me to the bed and was fucking me,” Nicky cuts him off. “Which is only slightly out of the ordinary, because usually it’s Joe who is restrained.”

Nile really doesn’t know whether it’s better to hear these things from Joe, who turns it into romantic poetry, or Nicky, who says it like he’s talking about the weather. Either way, she gets the picture.

“Not a good spot to be in, if somebody comes after you,” she guesses.

“No, it was not,” Nicky agrees.

“I’m sorry, did you want to tell this story?” Joe asks.

“Well, you were dead for the next part, so yes, I think I should.”


	2. Chapter 2

The version of the story they tell Nile leaves out certain details that aren’t of interest to her, but Joe can’t help recalling the entire night. In his memory, the horror of what happened is inextricably bound with the tenderness that came before it.

***

It had been months since they touched, years since they had done so in a proper bed, and Joe had spent most of the afternoon dreaming of all the ways they might make the most of this opportunity. 

“I am, you know,” Nicky said softly.

“You are what, my heart?” Joe revelled in the details of Nicky’s face that could only be seen when they were so close: a particular collection of freckles beneath his left eye, the barest of scars on the edge of his jaw from a fall in childhood, the shadows cast by his long lashes.

“Yours. Your servant. Your slave. Entirely.”

Joe breathed in sharply. Every single one of his potential plans for the night went right out of his head.

“I love the things you say to fools like that,” Nicky told him. “I wish we did not have to suffer them at all, but I love to see you put them in their place.”

“If it pleases you, I’ll find a fool every day.” Joe kissed him, slow and hard and deep, and Nicky opened up for him, melting into his arms.

“For now, I want you to put me in my place,” Nicky whispered, and Joe grinned against his lips.

“And what is your place, my love?”

Nicky nipped at Joe’s lower lip before he answered, “Flat on my back with your cock inside me.”

Joe groaned and grabbed Nicky’s hips and spun them around to lower Nicky back onto the narrow bed, pinning him down with hands on his shoulders and soft kisses on his neck. 

“Hmm. Yes, I think I like you this way,” Joe murmured, lifting up to look at the bright flush on Nicky’s cheeks and the wet sheen on his parted lips. A thought occurred to him, and he beamed down at his beloved. “In fact, I think I want to make sure you stay this way.”

Joe had taken to wearing a short linen scarf tied around his neck, useful for keeping dust out of his face, and he felt it added a rakish quality to his appearance. Loosening the scarf, he commanded Nicky, “Arms above your head.”

Nicky obeyed immediately, and Joe’s pulse pounded at the sight of his ferocious, feral Nicky, this divine force of nature, letting his wrists be tethered around the center bar of the headboard. There was no one else in all of history for whom Nicky had ever or would ever willingly submit in a way that left him so utterly vulnerable. Not to Andy or Booker, not to his lovers, not even to God Himself. This was a sacred gift for Joe alone.

Slowly, Joe began to unbutton Nicky’s shirt, trailing open-mouthed kisses as he went, savouring the taste and heat of Nicky’s skin. There were times when half the pleasure of their love-making was in the anticipation, the steady accumulation of small touches and light sensations, like long sips of wine to heighten the taste of an awaited banquet.

Tonight, Joe was hungry. There would be no aperitifs and small courses, just the immediate, succulent feast of Nicky’s body, and Joe intended to consume him completely.

When his kisses reached the waistband of Nicky’s trousers, Joe climbed off the bed and quickly removed the trousers and Nicky’s boots, leaving him naked except for the open shirt, arms stretched over his head and his thick cock resting between his legs. Joe’s mouth watered.

“ _Bellisimo_ ,” Joe sighed, and the flush on Nicky’s face deepened.

“I hope you don’t plan to stand there staring at me all night,” Nicky said mildly, hands shifting in the knotted linen.

“I can stand here as long as I want,” Joe pointed out, pulling off his own shirt. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Nicky gave him a long look, then hummed thoughtfully and let his head fall back against the thin pillow, eyes closing. Joe opened his mouth to joke about Nicky’s infinite patience, but Nicky took a deep breath and let it out slowly, spreading his legs so that his feet hung off either side of the bed. Another deep breath, and this time the exhale was closer to a quiet moan, his cock twitching against his thigh.

“Oh, now that’s not fair,” Joe complained, but Nicky just smiled and drew in another breath. Muttering, Joe quickly removed the rest of his clothes and retrieved the bottle of oil from their travelling pack, then scrambled back onto the bed. 

Without preamble, he took Nicky’s cock in his mouth, and he groaned as it swelled on his tongue. Nicky gasped and arched his back, but Joe braced his hands on Nicky’s thighs and held him firmly against the mattress, sucking mercilessly until Nicky was fully hard and panting. Then he pulled off slowly, dragging his lips along the hot length and swirling his tongue around the tip before letting it fall back against Nicky’s stomach.

“Trying to get started without me,” Joe chided. “As if I would leave you waiting.”

Nicky huffed and relaxed as Joe stretched out to press the length of their bodies together. “It would not be the first time you’ve done so.”

Joe kissed him, soft enough and long enough to make up for all the waiting they had ever done, and promised. “Not tonight, my heart. Not tonight.”

At that Nicky sighed and melted even more under Joe’s weight. It was always this way when Nicky submitted, giving himself over by inches to Joe’s comfort and care. Where Joe would fall to his knees at a single word, it took time for Nicky’s sharp mind to soften and his self-control to surrender, which made it all the more precious when he did.

Joe lifted himself enough so he could wrap one hand around NIcky’s cock and slid the first two fingers of his other hand in Nicky’s mouth. Nicky let out a low moan, and his eyes fell shut again, his body rolling languidly against Joe’s.

“My beautiful Nicolò,” Joe whispered. “ _Dea mia, la mia vita_. _Je t’adore, je vis pour toi. 'Ant li lil'abad._ ”

Nicky sucked hard on Joe’s fingers. Gently, Joe pushed down the foreskin of Nicky’s cock and rubbed the pad of his thumb around the exposed head, making Nicky moan again and bite down on the fingers in his mouth. Joe curled his fingers down to grip Nicky’s lower jaw and pry his mouth open, loving the filthy slip of saliva over Nicky’s swollen lips as Joe slid his fingers free.

Finally, Joe sat back and positioned the tip of one finger at Nicky’s entrance. “ _Tutto bene, amato mio_?”

“ _Sì_ ,” Nicky groaned softly, and the quiet peace in his voice said more to Joe than any curses or begging, more even than the shift of Nicky’s knees falling further open or the shiver of muscles against Joe’s fingertip. That was the sound of Nicky adrift on a sea of pleasure, trusting Joe to guide him gently through the waves.

When the positions were reversed, as they usually were, Joe would balk at the use of anything less than oil for this, and he was only willing to use spit now because he knew how much Nicky loved the stretch and burn of an almost dry fuck. Still, Joe was careful as he slid one finger inside Nicky, slow even as Nicky tried to push his body down for more.

The scarf around his wrists kept Nicky from moving closer, and he gave a low groan of frustration as Joe removed the hand from Nicky’s cock to pin down his hips.

“ _Pazienza, amore mio_ ,” Joe soothed, massaging his thumb against the base of Nicky’s balls. 

With a soft whine, Nicky stilled and relaxed around Joe’s finger. As a reward, Joe returned his other hand to Nicky’s cock and started to stroke slowly. When Nicky tortured Joe this way, Joe would squirm and complain and plead for more, and Nicky would smile and wait for Joe to settle before giving him another centimeter. Nicky just... waited, just let Joe take him at whatever pace he chose, which invariably made Joe want to claim him that much faster.

The deepest desire in the world would not make Joe hurt Nicky, though, so the pace always started slow.

With one finger inside Nicky, Joe started to move with intent, matching his rhythm with firm strokes on Nicky’s cock. Nicky bit his lip and curled his toes, muscles tense with the effort of keeping his hips from thrusting up into Joe’s hand, keeping his control even as Joe tried to make him lose it.

Joe pressed a reverent kiss to the head of Nicky’s cock and whispered, “My love, my soul, my blessed saint.”

He dripped oil on his fingers before pushing in the second one, and Nicky arched off the bed with a sharp breath, his leaking cock bumping into Joe’s waiting lips and tongue. Joe’s hands stilled, waiting for Nicky to relax back onto the bed, then began moving at a faster pace, which made Nicky spasm all over again.

“Oh, Christ, _Yusuf_ ,” Nicky moaned, quiet and deep, pleading for more.

“Soon, _hayati_ ,” Joe promised. “Soon, I will fill you up. I’ll give you such pleasure that you’ll beg to stay here, tied to my bed forever.”

Joe twisted his fingers, and Nicky drew up his knees, heels digging into the edges of the mattress. Another night, Joe might have drawn this out, waited for Nicky to really start begging, but that had been known to take hours. For tonight, Joe decided that Nicky was ready enough. He spread his fingers wide as he pulled them out, knowing that the pressure would tell Nicky exactly what he was about to do.

With oil in his palm, Joe stroked his own cock lightly to get it slick. He had been hard almost from the moment he had first laid hands on Nicky and needed no encouragement. Steadying his cock with one hand and holding NIcky open with the other, Joe pressed in slowly, dizzy with sensation as Nicky’s body tightened around him. This part of the evening was not going to last long, he thought, not with the sweet burn of his flesh inside Nicky and the soft murmurs and huffs of breath Nicky was making as Joe sank into him.

Once Joe was fully seated, his hips flush against Nicky’s ass and Nicky’s legs around his waist, Joe leaned down to kiss his beloved fiercely and breathed, “ _Mine_.”

Nicky’s gasp might as well have been a sob of pleasure, and his entire body seemed to tense, drawing Joe in deeper, closer, until they might merge into a one being, the two halves of their one soul joined at last into a single body. Joe paused for a moment, his head spinning with arousal and need and overwhelming, inexpressible, earth-shattering _love_.

He drew back slowly, savoring the rough slide of flesh all over again, then slammed back in, pulling a rough cry out of Nicky’s throat. Another slow pull, another hard thrust, and Nicky whined low in his chest. Grinning, Joe pushed one of Nicky’s legs so his ankle rested on Joe’s shoulder and sat back, changing the angle so that the next push in hit exactly the right spot to...

“ _Fanculo_ , fuck, _Joe_ , yes,” Nicky panted, his foot hooked around the back of Joe’s neck.

“ _Sono qui, cuore mio_. I have you,” Joe said gently, even as he started to move faster.

Nicky’s breathless moans became louder as Joe fucked him harder. Joe kept a loose grip on Nicky’s cock, just enough to provide friction, knowing that Nicky liked to focus on the pressure and push of Joe’s cock inside him. It was perfect. It was always perfect when Joe was with Nicky.

Much too soon, Joe felt the delicious heat of climax building low in his belly, and he took a steadying breath, slowing his rhythm in favor of sharp, hard thrusts that struck that secret spot inside of Nicky every single time. Nicky arched into him, tensing, and Joe knew he was getting closer with every moment. 

“Come on, love,” Joe murmured, tightening his hold on Nicky’s cock. “My beautiful, beautiful Nicky. Come for me.”

Moaning through gritted teeth, clenching like a vice around Joe, Nicky came.

A crash behind him wrenched Joe out of the moment. He looked around, just fast enough to see the door open and crowded with unfamiliar faces. Then there was a violent flash and... nothing.

***

No. No, Nile doesn’t need to hear any of that.


	3. Chapter 3

Nicky gets up from the couch and goes to check the big pot he left on the stove, and Joe watches him with an expression that Nile has seen a hundred times and still doesn’t really understand. She imagines it must be something like how John looked at Jesus or how Johnathan looked at David: awed, adoring, and painfully aware that he belongs to something bigger than just the two of them. Nile knows for a fact that Nicky doesn’t belong to anything except Joe, but she can see how it might feel otherwise, sometimes.

“Andy, would you help me with dinner?” Nicky calls from the kitchen.

Andy sighs, like this is the greatest inconvenience that has ever been forced upon her, but she goes, anyway, grumbling about unnecessary work when they could just live on protein bars and MREs. 

“Are you complaining about my cooking?” Nicky asks sweetly.

“ _Mai, fratellino_ ,” she assures him. “I know better than that.”

Joe laughs and tells Nile, “Once, Andy complained about something being bland, and so Nicky started dumping a little too much spice on her food. Just her food, and just a bit more at every meal. But Andy absolutely refused to say anything. One night, Booker asked if her food was too spicy, because she’d been drinking so much while she was eating, and she said no, no, of course not, and then just stopped drinking during meals altogether.”

“It wasn’t just spicy things, though,” Andy cuts in. “No, whatever seasoning was already going in the dish, Nicky would just put more in mine, but I could never catch him doing it.”

“This went on for a year, then...” Joe looks over his shoulder to Andy and Nicky. “Was it pepper that finally did it?”

“It was _salt_ ,” Andy replies. “This _culo_ gave me a bowl of stew with so much salt it looked like snow. I just started yelling at him for wasting food.”

“And Nicky... Nicky just stood there. Just let her tear into him.” Joe is laughing so hard, he can barely get the words out. “Then he handed her the bowl he’d served for himself, and he said...”

Nicky turns around and says in a sugary voice, “ _Mi dispiace_ , Andromache. This one is a little more bland.”

Nile gapes at him. “You are such a little _shit_.”

“ _Such_ a little shit,” Andy agrees. “But also a fantastic cook.”

For that, Nicky gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, and she pats his face affectionately.

Dinner is delicious, as always, but when Nile asks what it is, Nicky looks at her blankly. “It’s... stew. We eat this often.”

“Yeah but, like, what’s it called?”

Nicky frowns and looks at Joe. “ _Stufato? Hasa’? Ragoût?_ ” 

“It’s called whatever the hell we have to throw in a pot,” Andy says. “In this case, root vegetables, chicken, and a truly unnecessary amount of garlic.”

“Tell me again how to cook, _sorella_. Please,” Nicky says, and Nile honestly can’t tell if he’s teasing or annoyed.

Andy throws up her hands in surrender and continues shovelling food into her mouth. 

“No such thing as too much garlic,” Nile says, because it’s true, and Nicky beams at her. “Okay, so tell me more about New Orleans.”

The air around the table is suddenly tense. Nobody answers. Joe and Nicky look at each other, and Andy looks between the two of them like she’s waiting to see who wants to handle this one.

It makes it worse, Nile thinks, that everything bad that happens to Joe or Nicky happens to both of them, like they get twice the suffering just because they suffer for each other. Maybe sharing the pain makes it hurt less, but she doesn’t think that’s the case for them.

Finally, Nicky says, “The rest is... unpleasant.”

***

It had been months since they touched, years since they had done so in a proper bed, and Nicky would have been content with even the most rudimentary of love-making. As it was, submitting to Joe’s control allowed him to sink completely into uncomplicated bliss and become nothing more than a vessel for pleasure.

***

“Okay, listen...” Nile interrupts Nicky. “You can’t fuss at Joe for over-sharing, then say shit like that.”

Andy, snorts. “Right. You haven’t gotten to hear Nicky’s dirty talk, yet.”

“That was once, and I apologized,” Nicky says.

“It was twice, and the second time was on purpose,” Joe reminds him, and Nicky pinches his arm.

“To the story at hand,” Nicky goes on, apparently done with all of them. “What I mean is that I was not in a state to fight, even if I was not restrained.”

“He was coming.” It’s Joe’s turn to be straightforward and traumatize Nile. “He was literally in the middle of an orgasm when they broke down the door.”

***

For nearly a thousand years, Nicky’s first and most cherished duty in life had been to protect Joe, and, time and again, he had done so without hesitation. No matter what threats fell upon them, Nicky’s sacred mandate was to stand between harm and his beloved, never to waiver and never to yield.

When the lock broke and wood splintered on the door to the little room in New Orleans, Nicky knew, somehow, deep in his bones, this would be the one time that he failed.

The room was positioned such that the foot of the narrow bed faced the door, and Joe, whose back was to the door, consumed all of Nicky’s vision, so that neither of them could see what was coming.

Nicky’s body was trembling in climax, Joe’s cock buried deep inside him, when Joe started to turn around in alarm and a bullet ripped through his head, sending a spatter of blood and brain to join the fresh semen on Nicky’s stomach.

If the heavy fog of lust and submission weren’t enough to dull Nicky’s instincts, the sudden horror of Joe’s corpse collapsing on top of him shocked away what remained of his senses. Even if he had been cognizant enough for a token fight, the restraints and the terrible dead weight kept him pinned to the bed as six men with guns and scowls of disgust surrounded him.

They spoke in English, but he could not make his mind understand them. Their presence was... distant. Surreal. Reality was Joe’s shattered head resting on his chest, not yet beginning to heal. Reality was the mix of gore and semen dripping over his shoulders and pooling in the hollow of his throat.

Reality broke when the men pulled Joe’s body away, and his still-hard cock dragged out of Nicky with a sharp, wet pop.

These monsters had harmed Joe, his sweet and gentle Yusuf, whose worst fault was that the strength of his passion sometimes outstripped his good sense. They had defiled a holy moment, the sanctity of which they could not begin to understand, and deprived Nicky of a joy none of them would ever know.

Nicky heel kicked one of them hard in the groin, sending the man sprawling in pain, and he had just enough leverage to drive his knee into another’s ribs before the remaining men started grabbing at his legs to hold him. He managed to kick three of them in the face, thrashing and struggling until the man gripping his thigh wrenched hard. A bolt of numbing pain shot up Nicky’s side, and his leg went limp. Dislocated hip.

It was already starting to heal, but the moment of weakness was enough for two of the men to get a strong hold on each of his knees and keep him still. He was gratified to see the man he had kicked in the groin still lying on the ground and noted that two of the others appeared to have broken noses.

Whatever they wanted, he would make them pay dearly for it.

“Not so tough now, huh, batty boy?” one of the men drawled, spitting in Nicky’s face.

Nicky just stared back at him. These men were going to die, and Nicky would not waste his breath on the dead. The moment Joe woke up...

 _If_ Joe woke up. If Joe didn’t wake up...

That line of thought would lead only to grief and madness. Nicky chose instead to feed the cold well of anger in his stomach.

“I’m sorry about this, I really am,” the man who had spit on him continued, clearly the leader of whatever this was. “But we can’t have folk like you and your boy there making that kind of scene and not catching any consequences.”

Eight hundred years, and Nicky had heard eight thousand versions of this argument. It would have been easy for these men to continue their evening, to scoff and laugh and carry on, safe in their own sense of moral superiority, but they had chosen instead to rip his beloved away from him. He watched the man with a blank expression and said nothing.

“Killing your boy was a mercy. It woulda been a lot worse for him,” the man went on. 

There was a badge on his chest. Some kind of deputy, Nicky guessed. A man of the law, or so he must have thought himself.

Nicky could not see Joe’s body on the floor, just a limp hand in a pool of blood, unmoving.

“I don’t want to kill you,” the deputy said, surprisingly honest. “Too much white blood been spilled lately, and I’m not in a hurry to add to it.”

He followed this with several violent slurs, as if to remind Nicky that his blood was still worth less than that of white men who chose to lay with white women, even if it was worth more than Joe’s. This man would bleed to death, Nicky decided. Slowly, if possible.

“But we’re gonna have to teach you a lesson. A day or two in the stocks should do it.” Looking around at his men, the deputy asked, “Any of you fellas wanna break him in first?”

“Looks to me like he’s already been broken,” one of the men holding Nicky’s knees said, leering at Nicky’s spread ass.

The other men laughed, and one of them leaned in to prod at the skin around Nicky’s entrance. Nicky kicked up, and his foot caught the underside of the man’s jaw, slamming his teeth together with a crack. The man fell back, cursing and clutching his face. For that, the deputy punched Nicky hard in the stomach, making his lungs seize and fight for air.

In the very moment that Nicky couldn’t breathe, he heard Joe gasp back to life. 

With that sound, Nicky was whole again.

The men turned toward Joe in shock, and Nicky took advantage of the distraction to wrench one of his legs free and start kicking wildly, bringing attention back to himself and causing a moment of chaos. Joe took a revolver from the man Nicky had kicked in the jaw and quickly dealt fatal shots to the three men closest to him. 

Nicky heard a click by his ear and felt the warm barrel of the deputy’s gun pressed against his temple.

Joe levelled his revolver at the deputy’s face right as the one other man still standing pointed his at Joe.

“I shot you,” the deputy said, staring at Joe in disbelief. “I shot you in the fucking head.”

“You want me to return the favor?” Joe snarled, and Nicky felt the gun shift in the deputy’s grip. With a glance down, Joe asked, “Nicky?”

In their own private language, Nicky answered, “ _Shoot him in the stomach_.”

Jaw clenching, Joe did exactly that.

The last man standing hesitated for just a second before he darted for the door. Joe shot him twice in the back, and he fell.

Joe pulled Nicky’s big hunting knife from their travelling pack and cut the ties on Nicky’s hands. Immediately, Nicky got to his feet and touched his forehead gently to Joe’s. They were alright. Everything would be alright.

On the floor, the deputy groaned in pain, and the man Nicky had kicked in the groin was trying to scramble away from the carnage around him. Joe aimed the gun at him, and the man made a sound of alarm.

“I didn’t see nothing!” the man shouted. “J-just lemme go. I won’t say nothing.”

Nicky nodded once to Joe, and Joe shot the man through the heart.

Of the six men who had invaded their room, only the deputy remained, clutching his bloody stomach and glaring at Joe and Nicky with abject hate.

“What about this one?” Joe asked.

Nicky took the knife from Joe’s hand and walked around the bed to crouch beside the deputy. “He thinks his blood is worth more than ours,” Nicky said. He was speaking to Joe, but he kept his eyes on the dying man before him. “I want him to see what his blood is worth on the ground.”

The deputy spat a mouthful of blood into Nicky’s face. “Fuck you.”

Calmly, Nicky wiped a hand over his face. “No, thank you.”

He drove his knife into the man’s heart and left it there as he stood.

“ _We need to get out of here_.” Joe switched to their private language as he pulled the ruined shirt from Nicky’s shoulders and used it to gently clean Nicky’s face and chest. 

Nicky nodded, and they made quick work of dressing in clean clothes and gathering their few possessions from around the room. By the time they were finished, the man on the floor was dead, and Nicky retrieved his knife, wiping it clean on the man’s sleeve before he slid it back into its sheath.

Joe led the way back downstairs to the tavern, where they found Andy drinking alone. 

She frowned as they approached, but before she could speak, Joe asked in a low voice, “Where’s Booker?”

“He went off with a girl,” Andy replied, glancing between the two of them with concern. “What’s going on?”

From the corner of his eye, Nicky could see the innkeeper watching them nervously and saw him gesture to a man at another table.

Joe shook his head. “No time. Get Book, and meet us at the docks. We have to go. Now.”

Andy nodded and headed toward a different set of stairs without argument.

The docks weren’t far, and ships were always plentiful in New Orleans. The difficulty would lie in finding one that was leaving soon for someplace far away, though even the next town upriver would be better than nothing. They had enough money that paying for passage should be no issue, and most riverboat captains would ignore the presence of a brown-skinned passenger for the right price, so there should not be any objection to Joe. If they could find a ship th-

“Nico?”

Joe’s quiet voice broke into Nicky’s thoughts, and Nicky realized abruptly that they were nearly to their destination. He also realized that he had been silent for some time, lost in his own head.

There were times, rarer now than they had once been, when Nicky seemed to separate from himself. He would fight and act and be aware, in a general sense, of what was happening, but the part of him that felt and spoke and lived would be... elsewhere. It was often the frenzy of battle or moments of terrible pain that drove his mind away, but tonight it was the multitude of feelings that overwhelmed him, the fear and anger and shame and...

He shook his head and took Joe’s hand. “I am here.”

Joe pressed a brief kiss to Nicky’s shoulder, saying without words that he understood, that he knew where Nicky’s mind had gone and was grateful for its return. Lightly, he said, “This is like that time on the road to Càdiz.”

“Oh, no. That was much worse.” Nicky shuddered with the memory. “Much too close.”

“At least I wasn’t tied up,” Joe pointed out. “Which I don’t think I ever want to do again, after this.”

Nicky knew perfectly well that he didn’t mean it. Or, if he did, he would change his mind the moment Nicky dangled a rope in front of him. “Perhaps we should just be more cautious.”

Joe hummed agreement. “I think I want to go back to Sicily for a little while.”

“You think I’ll let you tie me up again at home?” Nicky teased.

“I think I’ll let _you_ tie _me_ up,” Joe said, looping his arm around Nicky’s. 

“Mm. I do enjoy that,” Nicky admitted. He enjoyed every privileged touch that Joe allowed him, even the simple act of walking arm in arm.

Three nights after this one, Joe would wake from a nightmare in which he returned from death unable to move and had to watch the bloodied deputy violate Nicky. It would be another two weeks before Nicky would suffer a similar dream in which the men used Joe’s dead body to hold Nicky down while they raped him. Each time, they would describe the nightmare and hold each other until it faded back into memory. 

They were together. They would be alright.

***

“Wait. Oh my god. What happened on the road to Càdiz?” Nile asks immediately.

In unison, Joe and Nicky reply, “You don’t want to know.”

Nile looks at Andy, who shakes her head. “They won’t even tell me about that one.”

“Okay, fine.” Nile sighs. Poking Nicky with her foot, she says, “Next time, you tell me one of those good stories you claim to have.”

He smiles, and Joe laughs, saying, “How about you help me with the dishes, and I’ll tell you about the boat from New Orleans to Haiti?”

Nicky groans and says something in Arabic that makes Joe laugh harder.

Nile looks between them as she gets up and heads to the sink. “Well, now I gotta know.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe says. “So you know Nicky gets really seasick, right?”

Nicky throws a napkin at his head, and Andy cackles. 

It’s a great story.


End file.
